Филип Керр - A Five Year Plan

Kate said, ‘Where is His Excellency?’

‘Asleep. In his stateroom. He and the beer got well acquainted during the game on TV. And then there was the wine he had at dinner. I guess he’s drunk as much as he’s breathed today. Looks like he intends to play the part of lazy fat cat to the whiskers, Kate. Not so much under cover as under the influence. It amazes me that he’s managed to keep such a tight rein on his mouth. So far.’

‘I should never have suggested it,’ Kate said. ‘You’re right, Sam. He’s acting like he’s Donald Trump. This owner thing really has gone to his head.’

‘It’s not just his head. Did you see the way he was coming onto the captain of the Jade?’

Sam grinned. ‘I wonder why?’

‘Oh come on, Sam. Not you too. Those are tits in her polo shirt. Not golden apples.’

‘Can’t say as I noticed her tits. But I love that woman’s ass.’

‘Sam.’

‘Sea air does strange things to people,’ he explained. ‘There’ll be all kinds of shit before this voyage is out. You just see if I’m wrong.’

‘I hope so. I could use some action. Miami Bureau’s been a little dull of late. Bo wen sees to that. Dullest AS AC I ever worked for.’

‘Don’t you worry about a thing. You did right. Believe me, he’s playing the dumb schmuck owner to perfection. I should know, I worked for plenty. During college vacations I used to crew yachts. One particular asshole I worked for, heir to a sanitary napkin fortune, he owned this classic three-masted schooner. Two hundred feet long, built in 1927, a real beauty. His private plane flew him down to meet the yacht at Tierra del Fuego, in Argentina. This was after us radioing him to say that the weather was real quiet. We picked him up and he spent forty-eight hours on board going round Cape Horn just so that he could boast to his yacht club pals back in Manhattan that he’d actually done it. Two days later, we dropped him off the coast of Chile and he flew home. Asshole. As soon as he got back to Wall Street he put the yacht up for sale.’ Sam shook his head with disgust. ‘Yes, I think he and Kent Bowen would have gotten along real well.’

‘It’s kind of you to say so, Sam.’

He stretched his long arms and yawned. ‘Bowen’s right about one thing, though. That early night. I’m bushed. Mind if I turn in?’

‘You go ahead. I’m going to stay up a while and enjoy the night air. It’s not every day you set sail on a voyage across the Atlantic Ocean.’

Sam smiled politely and rose to his feet. He had no great love for the ocean. Fort Lauderdale was one of the busiest stations in the service. They’d performed over a thousand boardings the previous year and Sam never worked less than a seventy-hour week. The Coast Guard motto was Semper Paratus — Always Ready — and boy, did they mean it. Sam had never married. He’d never found the time, let alone the right girl. The kind of girl who would put up with a rival like the sea. Kate, he liked. But already he knew her for what she was. Someone like himself. Someone prepared to put her job ahead of any relationship. And there was no future in that for either of them. So he said goodnight and went down to his stateroom.

Kate went to the back of the bridge and stared out to sea. The ship was making good speed at almost seventeen knots, although she would hardly have noticed but for the low noise and dull vibration of the engines. The sea itself looked as calm as if they’d been sailing in one of Lauderdale’s intercoastal waterways. The moon was full, as big as a soccer ball, and there was only a light warm breeze as they cruised through the night. Kate lit a Doral and meandered barefoot around the deck. In the moonlight you might have believed all of the boats on the ship were made of cocaine, they were so white. A poet at least might have appreciated Kent Bowen’s half-baked theory. And it was easy to think of all their passengers as supernatural voyagers from some Greek myth, or maybe flying Dutchmen set to sail the seas forever.

Someone cleared his throat, and, turning towards the Carrera’s starboard side, she found herself facing the moonlit captain of the Juarista. He said, ‘Lovely evening.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Kate put out the cigarette. She never felt she looked her best when she was smoking.

‘You could ask me aboard again, if you wanted to.’

‘You want a beer?’

He seemed to take this as a yes, for the next moment he was leaping athletically from his bridge to hers.

‘Oh,’ she said, a little nervous of him. ‘Here you are. Well, well.’

‘Well, it’s a marvellous night for a moondance.’

To Kate’s surprise Dave put his arm around her waist, picked up her slightly reluctant right hand in his left, and began to dance with her, all the while quietly singing his favorite Van Morrison song, smiling when their eyes met and without a trace of shyness, as if he serenaded a girl like this every night.

At the end of the song, when she thought he would surely kiss her, he released her hand and stepped back.

Kate let out her breath and said, ‘That was nice.’ She was a little shocked to hear herself add, ‘I could listen to that all night.’ She turned away so that he couldn’t see her grimace with embarrassment. ‘I’ll get you mat beer.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Really I’m OK. I don’t need a beer.’ He smiled. ‘I was thinking. How about you go to the movies with me tonight? The Third Man’s playing at the Juarista. It’s a little movie theater somewhere off the Bahamas.’

‘I know it,’ she said. ‘It’s right by the Carrera.’

‘Afterwards, we could check out a cocktail bar I know nearby. The barman there makes these really excellent Margaritas.’

Kate frowned, wondering why she should suddenly be reminded of the Pier Top at the Hyatt in Fort Lauderdale.

Dave went on: ‘Then, if you’ve still got the energy, we could go dancing.’

‘I’m not much of a dancer,’ admitted Kate. Didn’t Howard always say so? I’ve seen a book of random numbers with more rhythm than you have, Kate, he had told her.

‘Sure you are,’ he said. ‘You know all the moves.’

‘I think that’s you you’re describing.’

‘Oh, you mean moves like in chess.’

She nodded.

‘As in a gambit?’

‘Mister Gary Kasparov,’ she said.

‘Could be,’ he allowed. ‘Only a gambit involves some kind of sacrifice.’

‘So what have you got to lose?’

Dave said, ‘I had the naive idea of simply expressing my feelings as they occurred. Will that do?’

‘Sure. But maybe we’d better skip the movie. We might disturb the other patrons.’

‘Okay, but how about that Margarita?’

‘If you think it’ll help with that naive idea of yours. Just the one though, and remember this. One: I’m driving home. And two: I like to lick the salt off my own lips.’

Dave helped her to cross to his boat and, while Kate cast her eye over the salon, he stepped downstairs to make sure that Al was fast asleep. The first decent girl he’d met in five years, the last thing he needed was Al sticking his nose in. Behind the polished cedarwood door, the TV was still on, but Al was snoring loudly. Dave went back up to the salon to fix the drinks.

‘Al’s asleep,’ said Dave. ‘He won’t disturb us.’

‘Tell me about Al.’

Dave said, ‘I guess you could say that Al’s pretty much the guy next door. That is if you happen to live next to a zoo, or a pig farm. But he’s useful to have around, y’know?’

Kate laughed. She was looking at the mock-glass aquarium by Lalique that surrounded the sofa and thinking that the boat’s interior was a lot less obviously masculine than she had imagined. Quite apart from the glass there were the scatter-cushions on the sofa. She had never known a man to possess cushions aboard a sport-fisher.